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Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail, He does his best ; and if he cannot please,
Have one sure refuge left; and that's to rail. Would quietly sue out his writ of ease.
Fop, coxcomb, fool, arethunder'd through thepit; Yet, if he might his own grand jury call,
And this is all their equipage of wit.

By the fair sex, he begs to stand or fall.
We wonder how the devil this difference grows, Let Cæsar's pow'r the men's ambition move,
Betwixt our fools in verse, and your's in prose: But grace you him who lost the world for love.
For, faith, the quarrel rightly understood, Yet, if some antiquated lady say,
'Tis civil war with their own flesh and blood. The last age is not copied in his play;
The thread-bare author hates the gaudy coat, Heav'n help the man who for that face must
And swears at the gilt coach ; but swears a-foot;

drudge, For 'tis observed of every scribbling man, Which only has the wrinkles of a judge. He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can;

Let not the young and beauteous join with those; Prunes up, and asks his oracle, the glass, For should you raise such numerous hosts of foes, If pink or purple best becomes his face Young wits and sparks he to his aid must call; For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays; 'Tis more than one man's work to please you all. Or likes your wit just as you like his plays; He has not yet so much of Mr Bayes.

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The judge remov'd, though he's no more my lord, | Thus far the poet, but his brains grow addle;
May plead at bar, or at the council-board: And all the rest is purely from this noddle.
So may cast poets write; there's no pretension, You've seen young ladies at the senate door,
To argue loss of wit from loss of pension. Prefer petitions, and your grace implore;
Your looks are cheerful; and in all this place However grave the legislators were,
I see not one, that wears a damning face. Their cause went ne'er the worse for being fair ;
The British nation is too brave to show

Reasons as weak as theirs perhaps I bring,
Ignoble vengeance, on a vanquished foe; But I could bribe you with as good a thing.
At least be civil to the wretch imploring, I heard him make advances of good nature,
And lay your paws upon him, without roaring; That he for once would sheath his cutting satire;
Suppose our poet was your foe before,

Sign but his peace, he vows he'll ne'er again Yet now the bus'ness of the field is o'er; The sacred names of fops and beaux prophane. 'Tis time to let your civil wars alone,

Strike up the bargain quickly; for I swear,
When troops are into winter-quarters gone. As times go now, he offers very fair.
Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian ; Be not too hard on him with statutes neither;
And you well know, a play's of no religion. Be kind; and do not set your teeth together,

Take good advice, and please yourselves this day; To stretch the laws, as coblers do their leather.
No matter from what hands you have the play. Horses by papists are not to be ridden;
Among good fellows ev'ry health will pass, But sure the muses' horse was ne'er forbidden;
That serves to carry round another glass : For in no rate-book, it was ever found
When, with full bowls of burgundy you dine, That Pegasus was valued at five pound:
Though at the mighty monarch you repine, Fine him to daily drudging and inditing;
You grant him still Most Christian, in his wine. And let him pay his taxes out,-in writing.


Sent to the Author by an unknown hand, and proposed to be spoken by Mrs Monford, dressed like

an Officer.

BRIGHT beauties, who in awful circle sit,
And you, grave synod of the dreadful pit,
And you the upper-tire of pop-gun wit,
Pray ease me of my wonder, if you may;
Is all this crowd barely to see the play,
Or is't the poet's execution day?
His breath is in your hands I will presume,
But I advise you to defer his doom,
Till you have got a better in his room;

And don't maliciously combine together,
As if in spite and spleen you were come hither,
For he has kept the pen, though lost the feather.
And on my honour, ladies, I avow,
This play was writ in charity to you,
For such a dearth of wit who ever knew ?
Sure 'tis a judgment on this sinful nation
For the abuse of so great dispensation ;
And therefore I resolved to change vocation

For want of petticoat I've put on buff,

Honour in danger, blood and wounds is sought. To try what may be got by lying rough : Lost virtue, whither fled, or where's thy dwellHow think you, sirs—is it not well enough?

ing? Of bully critics I a troop would lead,

Who can reveal ? at least 'tis past my telling, But one replied, thank you, there's no such need, Unless thou art embark’d for İnniskelling. I at groom-porters, sir, can safer bleed. On carrion tits those sparks denounce their rage, Another, who the name of danger loathes, In boot of wisp and Leinster freese engage, Vow'd he would go, and swore me forty oaths, What would you do in such an equipage ? But that his horses were in body-cloaths; The siege of Derry does you gallants threaten; A third cry'd, damn my blood! I'd be content Not out of arrant shame of being beaten, To push my fortune, if the parliament

As fear of wanting meat, or being eaten. Would but recall claret from banishment. Were wit, like honour, to be won by fighting, A fourth (and I have done) made this excuse, How few just judges would there be of writing, I'd draw my sword in Ireland, sir, to chuse, Then you would leave this villainous back-biting; Had not their women gouty legs, and wore no Your talents lie how to express your spite, shoes.

But where is he knows how to praise aright? Well, I may march, thought I, and fight and trudge, You praise like cowards, but like critics fight. But of these blades the devil a man will budge; Ladies be wise, and wean these yearling calves, They there would fight e'en just as here they Who in your service too are mere faux braves, judge.

They judge, and write, and fight, and love-by Here they will pay for leave to find a fault,

halves, But when their honour calls, they can't be bought,


DON ALVAREZ, An old Counsellor to Don SEMEN.

BASTIAN, now a Slave also.
DON SEBASTIAN, King of Portugal.

MUSTAPHA, Captain of the Rabble.
MULEY-MOLUCH, Emperor of Burbary.
Doras, a noble Portuguese, now a Renegade,

formerly Don ALONSO DE SYLVERA, Al- ALMEYDA, a captive Queen of Barbary.
cade or Governor of Alcazar.

MORAYMA, Daughter to the Musti. BENDUCAR, chief Minister and Favourite of the JOHAYMA, chief Wife to the Mujti. Emperor.

Two Merchants.
The Mufti, ABDALLA:

MULEY-ZEYDAN, Brother to the Emperor. A Servant to BENDUCAR.
Don ANTONIO, a young, noble, amorous, Por A Servant to the Blufti.

tuguese, now a Slave.

SCENE—The Castle of Alcazar.


What hear you of Sebastian, king of Portugal? SCENE 1-The Scene at Alcazar, represent Bend. He fell among a heap of slaughtering a Market-place under the Castle.

ed Moors;

Though yet his mangled carcase is not found. Enter MULEY-ZEYDAN and BENDUCAR.

The rival of our threatened empire, Mahomet, Mul. Zeyd. Now Africa's long wars are at Was hot pursued; and in the general rout, an end,

Mistook a swelling current for a ford, And our parch'd earth is drenched in Christian And in Mucazer's flood was seen to rise ; blood,

Thrice was he seen ; at length his courser plung'd, My conquering brother will have slaves enough, And threw him off; the waves whelm’d over him, To pay his cruel vovis for victory.

And, helpless in his heavy arms, he drowned.,

ward to you.

Mul. Zeyd. Thus, then, a doubtful title is ex

Enter DORAS. tinguished:

Now, Dorax! Thus Moluch, still the favourite of fate,

Dor. Well, Benducar. Swims in a sanguine torrent to the throne,

Bend. Bare Benducar? As if our prophet only work’d for him :

Dor. Thou wouldst have titles? take 'em theo; The heavens and all the stars are his hir'd ser

chief minister, vants, As Muley-Zeydan were not worth their care,

First hangman of the state.

Bend. Some call me favourite. And younger brothers but the draff of nature.

Dor. What's that, his minion? Bend. Be still, and learn the soothing arts of

Thou art too old to be a catamite. court ; Adore his fortune, mix with flattering crowds,

Now prithee tell me, and abate thy pride,

Is not Benducar bare a better name
And when they praise him most, be you the loudest. In a friend's mouth, than all those gaudy titles,
Your brother is luxurious, close, and cruel,

Which I disdain to give the man I love?
Generous by fits, but permanent in mischief.
The shadow of a discontent would ruin us;

Bend. But always out of humour.

Dor. I have cause : We must be safe before we can be great:

Though all mankind is cause enough for satire. These things obscrv’d, leave me to shape the rest.

Bend. Why then thou hast reveng'd thee on Mul. Zeyd. You have the key, he opens in


They say in fight, thou hadst a thirsty sword, Bend. So often tried, and ever found so true,

And well 'twas glutted there. Has given me trust, and trust has given me means

Dor. I spitted frogs, I crushed a heap of Once to be false for all. I trust not him: For now his ends are serv’d, and he grown ab- A hundred of 'em to a single soul,

emmets, solute,

And that but scanty weight too: the great devil How am I sure to stand who serv'd those ends ?

Scarce thank'd me for my pains; he swallows I know your nature open, mild, and grateful;

vulgar In such a prince the people may be blest,

Like whipp'd cream, feels 'em not in going down. And I be safe.

Bend. Brave renegade ! couldst thou not meet Mul. Zeyd. My father! [Embracing him.

Sebastian ?
Bend. My future king! auspicious Muley- Thy master had been worthy of thy sword.

Dor. My master! by what title?
Shall I adore you? No, the place is public,

Because I happen'd to be born where he I worship you within ; the outward act

Happen'd to be a king ? and yet I serv'd him, Shall be reserv'd till nations follow me,

Nay, I was fool enough to love him too. And heaven shall envy you the kneeling world.

You know my story, how I was rewarded, You know th' alcald of Alcazar, Dorax?

For fifteen hard campaigns, still hoop'd in iron, Mul. Zeyd. The gallant renegade you mean?

And why I turn’d Mahometan. I'm grateful; Bend. The same:

But whosoever dares to injure me, That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest,

Let that man know, I dare to be reveng'd. Contains the shining treasure of a soul,

Bend. Still you run off from bias ; say what Resolv'd and brave; he has the soldiers' hearts, And time shall make him ours.

Your present spleen? Mul. He's just upon us.

Dor. You mark'd not what I told you : Bend. I know him from afar,

I kill'd not one that was his maker's image; By the long stride and by the sullen port:

I met with none but vulgar two-legg'd brutes. Retire, my lord.

Sebastian was my aim : he was a man,Wait on your brother's triumph; your's is next; Nay, though he hated me, and I hate him, His growth is but a wild and fruitless plant;

Yet I must do him right, he was a man I'll cut his barren branches to the stock,

Above man's height, ev'n tow'ring to divinity; And graft you on to bear.

Brave, pious, generous, great, and liberal ; Mul. Zryd. My oracle !

Just as the scales of heaven, that weigh the seasons. (Erit MULEY-ZEYD. He lov'd his people, him they idoliz'd: Bend. Yes, to delude your hopes ; poor credu- And thence proceeds my mortal hatred to him, lous fool,

That thus unblameable to all besides,
To think that I would give away the fruit He err'd to me alone:
Of so much toil, such guilt, and such damna- His goodness was diffus'd to human kind,

And all his cruelty confin'd to me.
If I am damned, it shall be for myself:

Bend. You could not meet him then ? This easy fool must be my stale, set up

Dor. No, though I sought To catch the people's eyes; he's tame and mer

Where ranks fell thickest; 'twas indeed the place ciful;

To seek Sebastian: through a track of death Him I can manage till I make him odious

I follow'd him, by groans of dying foes,
By some unpopular act, and then dethrone him. But still I came too late ; for he was flown


Like lightning, swift before me to new slaugh M. Mol. The purple present shall be richly ters;

paid : I mow'd across, and made irregular harvest, That vow perform'd, fasting shall be abolish’d: Defac'd the pomp of battle, but in vain,

None ever serv'd heav'n well with a starv'd face: For he was still supplying death elsewhere: Preach abstinence no more; I tell thee, Mufti, This mads me, that perhaps ignoble hands Good feasting is devout: and thou our head, Have overlaid him, for they could not conquer : Hast a religious, ruddy countenance: Murder'd by multitudes, whom I alone

We will have learned luxury: our lean faith
Had right to slay; I too would have been slain, Gives scandal to the Christians; they feed high:
That, catching hold upon his flitting ghost, Then look for shoals of converts, when thou hast
I might have robb’d him of his opening heav'n; Reform’d us into feasting.
And dragg’d him down with me, spite of pre Muf. Fasting is but the letter of the law:

Yet it shows well to preach it to the vulgar.
Bend. 'Tis of as much import as Afric's worth, Wine is against our law, that's literal too,
To know what came of him, and of Almeyda, But not denied to kings and to their guides.
The sister of the vanquishid Mahomet,

Wine is a holy liquor, for the great.
Whose fatal beauty to her brother drew

Dor. (Aside.] 'This Mufti, in my conscience, The land's third part, as Lucifer did heaven's.

is some English Dor. I hope she died in her own female call. Renegade, he talks so savourly of toping. ing,

Mol. Bring forth th' unhappy relicks of the war. * Choak’d up with man, and gorg'd with circumcision.

Enter MUSTAPHA, captain of the rabble, with his As for Sebastian, we must search the field,

followers of the black guard, 8c. and other And where we see a mountain of the slain,

Moors : with them a company of Portuguese Send one to climb, and, looking down below,

slaves, without any of the chief persons. There he shall find him at his manly length, M. Mol. These are not fit to pay an emperor's With his face up to heav'n, in the red monu

vow; ment,

Our bulls and rams had been more noble victims; Which his true sword has digg’d.

These are but garbage, not a sacrifice. Bend. Yet we may possibly hear farther news; Muf. The prophet must not pick and choose For while our Africans pursued the chase,

his off rings; The captain of the rabble issued out,

Now he has giv’n the day, 'tis past recalling: With a hlack, shirtless train to spoil the dead, And he must be content with such as these. And seize the living.

M. Mol. But are these all ? Speak you, who Dor. Each of 'em an host,

are their masters. A million strong of vermin ev'ry villain :

Must. All, upon my honour. If you'll take No part of government, but lords of anarchy, 'em as their fathers got 'em, so; if not, you Chaos of power, and privileged destruction. must stay till they get a better generation: these Bend. Yet I 'must tell you, friend, the great Christians are mere bunglers; they procreate nomust use 'em,

thing but out of their own wives; and these have Sometimes as necessary tools of tumult. all the looks of eldest sons. Tor. I would use 'em

M. Mol. Pain of your lives, let none conceal a Like dogs in times of plague, outlaws of nature, slave. Fit to be shot and brain'd without a process, Must. Let every man look to his own consciTo stop infection; that's their proper death. ence; I am sure mine shall never hang me. Bend. No more;

Bend. Thou speak’st as thou wert privy to Behold the emperor coming to survey

concealments: then thou art an accomplice. The slaves, in order to perform his vow.

Must. Nay, if accomplices must suffer, it may Enter Muley-MOLUCH, the Emperor, with at-go

hard with me; but here's the devil on't, there's

a great man and a holy man too, concern’d with tendants ; the Mufti, and MULEY-ZEYDAN.

me. Now if I confess, he'll be sure to 'scape beM. Mol. Our armours now may rust, our idle tween his greatness and his holiness, and I shall scymitars

Pbe murder'd, because of my poverty and rasHang by our sides, for ornament not use: cality. Children shall beat our atabals and drums, Mut: (Winking at him.! Then if thy silence And all the noisy trades of war no more

save the great and holy, Shall wake the peaceful morn: the Xeriff's blood ?Tis sure thou shalt go straight to paradise. No longer in divided channels runs,

Must. 'Tis a fire place, they say ; but, doctor, I 'The

younger house took end in Mahomet. am not worthy on't: I am contented with this Nor shall Sebastian's formidable name

homely world; 'tis good enough for such a poor Be longer us'd to lull the crying babe !

rascally mussulman as I am: besides I have learnt Mut. For this victorious day our mighty pro so much good manners, doctor, as to let my betphet

ters be serv'd before me. Expects your gratitude, the sacrifice

M. Mol. Thou talk'st as if the Mufti were Of Christian slaves, devoted, if you won,

concern'd. VOL. I.

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